


Reparations

by Mrs_Don_Draper



Series: Lovely Little Agent [5]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crying, F/M, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rescue, Safe Haven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Don_Draper/pseuds/Mrs_Don_Draper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just wants him to come home.</p><p>Kink Meme Prompt: I need a continuation of the scene where Silva has Bond tied up, or just a scene in general where Silva rapes Bond - and Bond does not enjoy it. I need a fic where he's not secretly enjoying it. As a matter of fact, bonus points for making Bond vulnerable, or struggling, or scared and panicking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reparations

**Author's Note:**

> This is where my story ends and the rest of the _Skyfall_ plot begins.

The team she sends out to rescue Bond is ready in record time, leaving M to pace her office until he returns. Safely and in one piece, she hopes. Although knowing Bond, that probably won't be the case. He'll probably have gone and gotten a limb shot off or become malnourished out of sheer spite since he has been known to refuse food during times of great stress and strain. But how much good does it do thinking about _that_? None, is how much. _Got to keep your head together, old girl. Bond will need you_. But what if something else has happened? What if Tiago had take a more psychological approach? Brainwashed him or wiped his mind clear? What if Bond was a completely blank slate now? His mind was all he truly had, what with no kin to speak of nor any special worldly possession or even a partner. He had himself and his wits. And herself of course, but when was the last time 007 asked for help or some time off?

M tries to sit down at her new desk and work on things, other missions and other agents, but every time she grabs a pen or touches her fingers to the keyboard, she finds herself writing down her thoughts and worries instead. She throws her fountain pen down with a huff and angrily pushes her chair as she stands up to resume pacing. 

What if he couldn't be helped? What if he was physically or mentally beyond repair? Could she really look him in the eyes and tell him he was of no use to her and the agency anymore? He would kill himself. She could not stand the idea of having more of his blood on her hands; she already dripping with it. She cannot even count the number of times she's been there to patch him up or send him off or bump into him in the office. She would play it cool, though they both knew just how much one meant to the other. If she were thirty years younger, they would have made a wonderful team. Unstoppable on the field and in the bedroom. She _did_ teach him everything there was to know about women, after all. She and few other choice girls, and even a few young men, she knew would be both discrete and relish the opportunity to be able to say, “I taught him that. You're welcome,” had the privilege to train him.

But that was utter nonsense. M shakes her head. Now was not the time to be thinking of James' sexual prowess. It was probably the last thing on his mind, and so it should be the last thing on hers. He was probably being tortured and here she was sighing over him like a school girl. Their relationship went deeper than just a crush though. One who didn't know them better might even call it motherly. Yet even that wasn't quite the right word for what they shared. It wasn't quite friendship either. She doesn't need a label to know that they love each other, in their own way, on their own unspoken terms.

She just wants him to come home.

 

`*`*`*`*`*`*`

 

Silva's acting differently today, and Bond doesn't like it. Not that he has been happy with his usual treatment, but at least his actions had been more predictable. Today, he was...off. Even considering that this was Silva, something was uniquely wrong.

“Come here, James,” he says, calmly, but with a cold bite to his voice.

Clothed in some loose garments Silva had dressed him, he steps forward. They had fucking burned his suit last night. Said it was no good. Not salvageable. Bloody wankers.

“Kneel at my feet,” he commands.

James does, looking to his left and right to gauge if he is the only one sensing a difference in Silva's behavior. Though it's difficult to say, the thugs at the door seem more tense than usual. Rodrigo keeps looking out the window like he's expecting to see something. The wheels in his head begin turning, but his thoughts are interrupted when Silva shoves his dick in his mouth. James closes his eyes on autopilot, almost starting to get used to this.

 _Wait, what am I thinking? How could someone_ ever _get used to this_? It was awful and harsh and it was no wonder that some of his girls hadn't liked doing it. Silva was bitter tasting as he began to leak into his mouth, with a hint of something tart slipping in. Their key lime pie from dessert the other night? Or maybe it was—

Silva thrusts in deep and his train of thought derails. He gags, and Silva laughs.

“Swallow me down, little rabbit.”

James tries to get him deeper on his own and tears stream down his cheeks. He can't breathe. He's choking. Finally, Silva pulls out to allow him air. His eyes pop open as he gulps down precious oxygen. Breath caught, Silva grips his head and shoves in again. What a gentleman.

There's a noise in the distance that catches Bond's attention. What was that? He wants to turn his head to look out the window, but Silva's gripping him too tightly for him to move. He hazards a look by opening his eyes and turning them towards the guards. They too have heard the noise.

One of them says something in rapid Spanish, and Bond doesn't catch most of it. One word stands out to him.

“...here.”

 _Who_?

God, dare he even hope?

“Ahhh,” Silva moans. “Looks like Mommy's friends have found you.”

Bond struggles in his grip, twisting his knees into concrete as he tries to get away. Silva has him pinned just enough to make it impossible: one hand on the back of his head, one hand in a vice on his shoulder, cock halfway down his throat.

“Weren't you—unfff—ever taught to finish a job before you leave, James?”

James whines angrily in the back of his throat, which seems to please his rapist greatly. 

“I'll miss this, James. I'll think fondly of my time with you, and I can only hope you feel the same way.”

The copters sound close now. Hopefully they'll find him quickly.

For the first time in sixteen days, Bond looks him in the eye while he sucks him, transmitting hatred and his lust for revenge from his crystal blue eyes. They stay locked onto Silva's dark-brown ones, until it is Silva who looks away as he throws his head back when he comes.

It flows down his throat and out his mouth until it is spilling down his chin. Always Silva comes as if he hasn't come in ages. He twists his head to spit like he has been doing when Silva catches him once more and forces his jaw shut.

“Swallow.”

Bond fights him and squirms in his grasp, but when Silva pinches his nose shut, he has no choice but to do so. His body instantly feels like rejecting it, but he knows that if he throws up, it would just more humiliation on his part.

“Good boy, James.”

The entrance to the room bursts open loudly with the sounds of guns cocking joining the banging of the door. Silva backs away from Bond quietly, hands in the air and cock hanging out. Bond is still on his knees panting and coughing up strands of come. It's quite obvious the MI6 team has just interrupted. What a sight they must make.

The next thing he knows, Bond is being dragged up and backwards into a squad of agents while the leader yells at Silva to do up his pants, “but try anything funny, and I shoot it off.”

Silva laughs.

 

`*`*`*`*`*`*`

 

Just as promised, Tanner has Bond in her office with the twenty-four hours she had given him. He's even showered and dressed himself impeccably. On a superficial level, he looked completely normal, barring the sutured cut on the side of his head. Looking closer told a different story. There was a new dead look in his eyes, and he flinched a bit when Tanner had shaken his hand welcoming him back. And of course, the rescue team's report told the rest of the story. He had been raped.

He sits across from her like he's challenging her.

“You can take as much time as you need,” she says.

“Time for what?”

“Time to get back on your feet. And time to see a psychologist. That's not optional.”

“If it will make you feel better, why don't I just quit altogether?”

M sighs. “That's not what I'm saying, and you know it. You need help, and I'm trying to give it to you.”

“Help with what?” he asks stubbornly.

“Because you were raped, James. Repeatedly over the course of two weeks, and God knows what else happened to you. But we won't ever know or be able to help you unless you're straight with me,” she snaps back.

“Sixteen.”

“What?”

“I was 'raped repeatedly' for _sixteen_ days, M. Better have your facts straight for the record.”

He almost enjoys the way her face falls as if she herself has been deeply wounded.

“James, you know I—”

“I know,” he says quietly.

She holds herself back from cradling him to her, wanting nothing more than to embrace him and tell him it will all be alright. Because she will always be there for him. She never had her own children, but there's a flair of something inside her that can only be labeled maternal. 

“Talk to someone,” she pleads. “I couldn't stand—don't do anything irreversible.”

He nods his head because he doesn't trust his voice. He's kept it together for this long, but if M starts getting sentimental on him, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand it. He moves to leave, but she catches his elbow before he walks out the door.

“Promise me I'll see you within the next few days,” she demands.

He wouldn't be the first MI6 agent to eat his gun. If he promises her, there's no going back on it. He nods again.

“Say it out loud. I need—I need to hear you say it.”

His jaw quivers as he tries and fails to choke down the sob that's been threatening to overtake him. It's a losing battle.

“I promise,” he sobs, completely breaking down.

The shards of his facade fall around him as he sinks to his knees at her feet, tears falling freely from his eyes. She sits on the floor beside him and pulls him to her as she had ached to do before. He turns into her neck and wraps his arms around her, holding her just as tightly. She runs a hand soothingly through his hair, whispering softly to him.

“Shhh, shhh, you're home now. You're here with me. You're a brave man, James. You'll be alright. You're so strong. You've done you're job, now let me do mine.”

She's unsure of how long they stay like that, but it's long enough that her joints start to protest. She hates to move him now that's he's settled into quiet brooding, but she'll never get up if she doesn't move soon.

“James?” she says reluctantly.

He slowly moves his head up from her shoulder and the hand that had been resting against his neck drops away. He looks at her with a tear stained face and tired eyes, but looking a bit more like his former self.

When he stands, he helps her up, and she tries not to show her discomfort from sitting on the floor. She may be old, but she certainly isn't weak.

James looks unsure as to what he should do next, so she prompts him herself.

“You can always sleep in the agent barracks if you don't want to go to your flat. I didn't go back to mine the first few nights either.”

He looks at her with new understanding and with a well-meant platitude on his tongue. She holds up a hand to stop him.

“Take care of yourself, 007. We're a corporation of two dozen branches for a reason. Take what's being offered to you. You might be glad you did.”

Bond gives her a hint of a smile.

“Yes, ma'am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Ash, for all your help and encouragement. <3


End file.
